Drabbles
by downmoon
Summary: Drabbles so sweet they'll make you sick.  Various pairings.
1. Harry Potter

Pickles couldn't recall a time in his life he had gone to the midnight showing of a movie. But Toki had begged, whined, wheedled, and possibly tricked him into going. And after digging out some hoodies (for disguise, as each were unwilling to shave their facial hair), throwing some excuse to the rest of the band, and _then_ sneaking past the Klokateers (which was damn hard to do), Pickles found himself waiting in a huge line of stupid, obnoxious teenagers. Toki had made a beeline for the concessions as soon as they got inside, leaving Pickles to awkwardly guard their spot in line. Toki made it back to him just as the line started moving forward into the theater, mouth moving a mile a minute with conversation, but Pickles can't hear him over the crowd. They push into their seats ("Somewheres near de backs!" Toki insists) as more people file past them, knocking into their legs. Now Pickles is pissed.

"Toki, why the fuck did we come here?" Pickles doesn't even bother to whisper; the noise from the crowd has reached a dull roar in the enclosed space of the theater. And no one seemed to recognize them so far.

"For Harry Potters! I tolds you dis." Toki ignores Pickles' annoyance, completely focused on one of his various boxes of candy.

He's groaning as the lights start to dim, rubbing his forehead. What the fuck had Toki talked him into? Seeing a kid's movie with a bunch of regular jackoffs, that's what. At midnight, when he could be at home getting wasted like a proper adult.

He started at the feeling of a hand slipping into his. He looks over at Toki and can just make out a smile on his candy-stained lips. Pickles smiles, shaking his head as Toki squeezed his hand. All that annoyance had disappeared, lost in Toki's sugary smile.


	2. Bunny

Toki tried to walk casually through the living room, but the effect was ruined by the two Klokateers, arms laden with bags and boxes, who followed him. They just _had_ to walk in front of the TV.

"Hey, Toki. What is that?" He paused, weighing the routes of escape in his head. Lie, or pretend to ignore Nathan. Lie.

"Uhh, I don'ts….whats you talkings about? I don't knows whats you talkings about. Okay, sees you!" He _almost_ made it to the hallway.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I can see it. What are you holding? Toki, goddamnit, did you bring home another animal?" A collective groan from the group sitting on the couch.

"C'mahn Toki, you know what happens when you bring home pets." Well, it wasn't _his_ fault the cat died, or the hamster got out of its cage, thank you very much.

"Oh, but looks at her! She ams so sweet!" He shifted the bundle of fur in his arms, holding out a little black bunny. "She won'ts bites or nothings!" To prove his point, he plopped the rabbit down on Murderface's lap. Murderface was, needless to say, indignant.

"Hey! HEY! Get thisch thing outta here!" Toki had wedged himself between Murderface and Skwisgaar on the couch and was stroking the bunny's soft head.

"Looks, she likes you Moidaface! Pets her, she likes dat." Murderface grumbled, hesitantly reaching down to put one finger on the bunny's head. The rest of the band had all turned towards the rabbit, bending over each other and their beer to look at the little thing. Murderface, although he would rather die than admit it, rather liked animals. Just as he had grown used to softly petting the bunny, Toki pulled her out of his lap and passed her to Skwisgaar. Murderface felt a sting of disappointment drop like a weight in his stomach as the rabbit was carefully passed from lap to lap by Toki.

The bunny had grown less interesting after her initiation into the hearts of Dethklok, and the band members had one by one wandered off on their own. Murderface and Toki remained on the couch, Toki completely enamored by the bunny (he had named it Rachel. Nathan failed to see the humor in it). He spoke in Norwegian to her, holding her delicately and kissing the tops of her ears. He put her down on the couch, watching her hop to Murderface. At the barrier of his legs, she stopped and sat, staring up at the bass player, ears twitching at the soft laughs from Toki. Murderface stared down at the rabbit, carefully reaching out to pet her.

"You _are_ pretty cute, aren'tcha?" Rachel sniffed at his leg, ears twitching in response.


	3. Quilts

Mordhaus was always cold, no matter how hard the enormous furnaces worked. It was especially cold in the winter, when cold air seeped in through the stone walls. On the unbearably cold nights, Pickles found himself in Toki's bed, both stripped down to underwear and piling blanket after quilt over them. They knotted together, cold hands sending shivers up their spines. Sometimes there was sex, sometimes there wasn't. Sometimes they talked or listened to music, sometimes they just lay in stillness, listening to each others' breath.

Sometimes Toki's anxiety kept him awake for hours. Pickles would lay, chest against his back, legs fitted together, and murmur anything into Toki's ear; stories he knew by heart, stories he made up on the spot, song lyrics.

Sometimes Pickles studied Toki's hands, holding them up in the shaft of moonlight streaming through the window, absorbing the feeling of them, the creases, bumps, bruises, cuts. Pickles felt as if he were holding a piece of priceless artwork. These were billion-dollar hands, even if they weren't insured for Skwisgaar's ten billion.

Sometimes Toki just stared at Pickles, counting his freckles, running his fingers over the lines of his face, touching the piercings in his eyebrows. Sometimes he slipped a hand under the covers and grasped Pickles' hand in his. Sometimes he was overcome with desire, sometimes he just enjoyed the sparkle in Pickles' eyes.

All those quilts and knit blankets, most of which Toki's mother had made for him, made their time together secret, safe. Shut away from the rest of the band. It felt like time was orbiting around them, speeding up and slowing down in perfect synchronization of their movements. Under those quilts, they were totally lost in each other, forgetting their names, their occupations, their _reputations_. Just soft, quiet, dark stillness.


	4. Flu

Nathan Explosion didn't get sick often (if he had one thing to thank his parents for it was a remarkable immune system) but when he _did_ get sick, he was hit hard. Down for days. Like now. He hadn't come out of his room for four days, going on a fifth. It wasn't that the band didn't take notice of their missing lead singer. It was more of…avoidance, for two reasons. One, no one else wanted to get sick. Two, Nathan was incredibly cranky and still pants-shittingly frightening when he was sick, even curled up in bed with crumpled tissues strewn over his room. Toki had been the only one foolishly brave enough to pop his head into Nathan's room since he had taken to his bed. His body never made it past the threshold of Nathan's bed, however. As soon as the door creaked open and he heard badly-mangled English, Nathan had hurled a tissue box at Toki, screaming at him to get out. Toki may be brave, but he wasn't stupid, so he hightailed it out of there. That was the second day. The fifth, today, and Nathan still felt just as shitty. He couldn't breathe, couldn't taste. He was tired all the time, but couldn't sleep, nor could he read. His ears ached, his throat ached. He was bored, and, not that he would tell anyone, he just wanted to be taken care of. He refused to go to the Mordhaus physician, even after Charles' recommendation, and he refused to let any of the Klokateers do anything for him besides bring him meals. Which someone was doing right now.

"My Lord, I have brought your dinner. Where shall I leave it?"

Nathan nodded and grumbled in a vague direction, watched the Klokateer leave the tray on his nightstand, and slip out the door. Soup, again. Basically the only thing he could stomach. But there was…something else on his tray. A white envelope, underneath the spoon. He slipped it from underneath the spoon, slicing the top open with his finger. He pulled out a card, a handmade deal. Blue construction paper folded in half, with white paper glued to the front. On the white, someone had drawn the whole band, and some dinosaurs, in crayon. Toki. _Who else owns crayons?_ Inside, stickers of more dinosaurs and smiley faces and spaceships covered almost the entire left side. Four, no, five,_ Offedensen signed this? Huh. _ signatures and get-well wishes on the un-stickered right side. Nathan looked up and around his room, waiting for _some_one to come bursting out and taunt his sentimentality and appreciation for the card. He read the messages with a small smile on his face, chucking at Pickles' and squinting at Skwisgaar's mangled English. The card was propped up on his nightstand, next to his abandoned books. Being this sick was brutal, so that must negate the stupid pussy grin on his face, right?


	5. Scuba

Skwisgaar watched Toki from the corner of his eye. The two were chilling out in the hot tub, and Toki had dragged about 50 different toys down from his room. He had submarines and boats, plastic action figures, scuba divers, whales, sharks and an assortment of other toys, all scattered about the hot tub or floating in the water. Toki's hair was dark and plastered to his forehead, having had to dive underwater more than several times to collect a sunken dinosaur or boat. He had a muttered battle going on between the toys, doing little voices for them as they swam about and crashed into each other.

Skwisgaar observed all this in cool silence, guitar perma-strapped to his body, watching Toki's clumsy movements.

"Aw, noes! De sub's been hit! Abandons your posts, men! Say yous prayers!" Toki made a great crashing noise, sloshing water up over the edge of the tub. He flung the toy sub into the air, watching it splash down in front of Skwisgaar. Wading through the tub of toys and battlefield carnage, Toki grabbed his submarine, eyes shining with mirth as he observed the Swede plucking away on his guitar.

"How you evens play dat under_waters_ Skwisgaar?"

Skwisgaar looked up, his blue eyes meeting Toki's gray and catching the infectious smile from them.

"Onlys de real masters play underwaters, not like some crysbabies dildos whats play wis' _toys_."

A burst of laughter erupted from Toki as he sent a wave of water onto Skwisgaar's chest.

Hours later, Nathan found Skwisgaar and Toki deeply involved in marine battle.


	6. Rain

Apparently, sneaking out was growing into a habit for Pickles and Toki. It was somewhat unsettling how easily the pair could slink past the Gears, but those thoughts were always banished from Pickles' mind as soon as they got outside. This time, Toki had begged for a walk down to a grocery store for snacks and movies and probably candy. Dethklok was on tour, massive bus stopped for the night in some city, and this was one of the rare opportunities they had to actually buy stuff for themselves. So, the two slipped out, walked a good ten minutes or so in misty rain to the grocery store. The longest part of the whole trip was actually finding Toki again once they set foot in the store. He had taken off, shouting some _thing_ over his shoulder, and skidded around a corner, nearly falling on the slippery floor. Half an hour later and Pickles had forbade Toki from leaving his sight again, holding one of his sleeves like a leash. And then another twenty minutes and the two had enough junk food to make themselves sick later.

The lamplights threw enough light out into the dark streets to illuminate to cold misty rain falling on their faces like snow. Toki, adrenaline and youthful energy pumping through him, talked incessantly, about anything and everything. Two plastic bags hung from the fingers of his right hand, hidden within his coat sleeve. His left hand swung and bumped into Pickles' at least a dozen times before Pickles finally made a grab for it. It felt silly, holding hands like a couple of gaga teenagers, but nobody was around, so what the hell? It didn't surprise Toki in the least; he didn't even take a breath in his sentence, but he smiled broadly. He swung their hands violently, until Pickles couldn't help but laugh. Under a streetlamp, Toki pulled him close and kissed him, skin cold and hair spilling out from under his hood, inky dark from the rain.

They were both soaked by the time they got back, jeans damp and hair disheveled. They dumped their bags in the kitchen, Toki fishing several bags of candy out as the two headed towards their central living room, where the rest of the band was gathered. It was a quiet night for Dethklok; no groupies, no after-parties going on. Some movie captivated the rest of the boys as Pickles and Toki piled onto the couch with the rest of them, Toki passing/throwing candy around. These were some of the nights Pickles loved best. Just palling around with his family.


	7. Ride

Fucking in the backseat of a car was _un_comfortable. His neck ached from having to rest his head against the car door, and he could feel an occasional tremor shoot through his thighs, having no room but to brace them against the opposite car door. The backseat was way too short for someone as tall as Toki, but _fuck_, was it hot. The leather seat slick against his sweaty back, the moisture hanging in the small, enclosed space, the way every grunt and moan was magnified. His hair was matted with sweat and clung to his forehead, his chest heaved, left hand roaming up and down Pickles' thigh, the other pumping Pickles' cock. One of Pickles' hands pressed into Toki's chest, his arm rigidly supporting some of his weight, the other hand gripping the "oh-shit" handle in front of him. Toki could feel his fingertips digging into his chest every time he thrust upwards into Pickles' ass.

He shifted his butt against the seat, trying to stretch his back and legs from their cramped position, and apparently, Pickles liked that _very_ much. He very nearly writhed on top of Toki, garbled moans tearing out of his throat. Toki smirked, blowing hair out of his mouth, and made the same roll of his hips, pulling Pickles' hips downwards with his free hand to meet his thrusts. He watched as Pickles arched on top of him, mouth open and face scrunched up in, if Toki wasn't below him fucking the _shit _out of him, what looked like pain. Toki paced his hand around Pickles' dick, matching his movements with those of his hips. He could feel Pickles' body tighten, felt the drummer's thighs squeeze hard against his sides. Pickles' arm pressed so hard into Toki's chest that the guitarist wheezed, but the sight of the redhead cumming so violently served to intensify the pleasure he already felt. He thrust up roughly, deeply, moving his cum-splattered hand from Pickles' dick to his other hip, pulling down harder until he thought he would burst.

In seconds, he was cumming, his whole body ignited with blue fire and then the explosion of white hot heat in his brain. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his hands were shaking, he was hot, the leather stuck, but he quite possibly realized an epiphany from the orgasm he just had. After a couple of sharp inhalations, Pickles pulled off of Toki, slumping backwards against the seat, eyes closed and one hand trying to rub sweat out of his eyes. Toki sat up, back arching and several low pops echoing from it as he stretched and craned his neck.

Fuck, next time Pickles didn't get to choose positions.


	8. Cherry Bomb

He had come to apologize. Apparently, the firecracker thrown at Toki's chest had hurt a lot more than Pickles realized, if that little pouty, teary-eyed look Toki shot him was any indicator. Besides, shoving firecrackers down Murderface's pants was way funnier than hurting someone who could take it personally and plan a much, _much _more horrible revenge. Which is why he was currently straddling Toki's lap, furiously hickeying the guitarist's neck. Toki, leaning against the wall running the length of his bed, writhed under Pickles' legs from the mixture of pain and pleasure assaulting his senses, strangled moans cutting off any words of protest.

Pickles slowed the bite of his teeth, ending his ministrations in one sweet kiss as he parted from Toki's neck, pausing to urge the guitarist's t-shirt off and force him to lie down. Pickles ran his fingers over the angry red splotch just above Toki's collarbone, the mark still blushing with warmth. His lips replaced his fingers as he softly kissed it, smiling when he heard Toki exhale.

"Sahrry" he murmured against Toki's bare chest, sliding from his position to brace himself over the body beneath him. Toki's hands wandered under Pickles' shirt, fingertips brushing the skin in a rare instance of gentle movements before he tugged it over the drummer's freckled shoulders.

"I forgives you".


	9. Caught

Nathan Explosion was a badass motherfucker. Lead singer of the most brutal band on earth, one-quarter Yannemango, totally proficient in Shakespearean literature. In no way was he a pussy. Playing with Toki's bunny was _not_ a pussy move. Sure, Rachel was a _cute, little, fluffy tough girl, aren't you, Rachel? Huh? Who's a _tough _little girl! You are, yes you_- ahem. Yeah, totally not a pussy move. Playing with bunnies was _metal_. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so metal. But he brought along one of Jean-Pierre's knives to teach Rachel how to use it. Bunny using a meat cleaver. Now _that_ was metal. Too bad her cute, little paws couldn't hold the handle. _Aw, but you're such a cutie, huh Rachel? Sweet little girl…_

Toki couldn't believe what he was seeing. Nathan. In Toki's room, on Toki's floor, with Toki's rabbit in his lap. And a…_whats de fucks? A knifes?_

"Nathans, what de hells you doin's to Rachel?" Apparently the panic in Toki's voice sent Nathan into an adrenaline-fueled rush, because Toki'd never seen the frontman move that fast. In less than one second, Nathan was standing, facing the guitarist, Rachel back in her cage, and knife kicked under Toki's bed.

"What? I don't- I don't, uuhh, I don't…"

Toki gestured towards the rabbit cage, eyes wide and gleeful now that he realized what had been happening.

"Yous was playin's wit Rachel, wasn't yous?"

"No. No way."

"Yes you was. Yous tryin's to get her to hold da knife, likes on yous golf shirt."

"No"

"I SAWS YOUS! YES YOU WAS"

"Toki, I, clearly, was not. Just lookin' for my…uhh…barbeque sauce"

Toki snorted, arms folded across his chest as he peered at Nathan. Nathan, however, was no stranger to intense scrutiny, and stared right back at Toki, one eyebrow raised slightly. Toki smirked as he started to dig around in his pocket, pulling out his Dethphone.

"Dos it agains. I gonna takes a picture"

"NO!"

Nathan's protest echoed down the hall, followed by Toki's booming laughter.


	10. Sweet Heart

"What's dis one says?"

Pickles held his hand out for the piece of candy. The colors of the little conversation heart, by this point in the night, were swimming in and out of clear focus, forcing him to squint at the tiny lettering.

" S…says…'Sweet Tahlk'. Whae'er dat's s'posed tah mean."

Next to him, Toki rubbed one eye and struggled to keep himself upright, something Pickles had long ago stopped fighting.

"Sweet talk…likes de dirty talksing! Ha!" They both burst into stupid fits of giggles- being as high as the two were made _everything_ funny.

Pickles grabbed a handful of the scattered candies and stuffed them in his mouth.

"Fuckin' hell, Toki, where'd ya get dese t'ings? Dey take like…fuckin'…soap 'r something."

"Dey from Valentine's Day. Dat's why dey's da liddle hearts, Pickle!"

Oh. Now those heart shapes made sense.


End file.
